Page 7 of #Awestruck
She then began holding the dresses up against me and discarded them in a pile on either my right or left based on what she saw. When she had finished, she picked up the smaller pile and handed it to me. “I think any of these would work. Pick the one you like best. Join us in the living room when you’re ready.”
Before I could protest that I was afraid I might get lost trying to retrace my steps, she’d left. I took off my skirt and blouse and started trying on dresses. As I’d feared, most of them became super-microdresses on me. So, so short.
My mom always said the right length for a skirt was at least two inches below your cellulite. Finally, I found one that met her criteria. I put on the silver spangly one that actually reached midthigh. My shoes matched well enough, and I even managed to find Malik and Nia in the kitchen. They were grinning at each other, whispering. He had his arms wrapped around her and was nuzzling her nose.
And even though I was always surrounded by overly affectionate couples in my own family, for some reason this hit me funny. Made my heart twinge. Some part of me whispered,I want that.
I cleared my throat, hoping it would clear my head at the same time. “I’m ready.”
“Let’s get going!” Nia gave her husband a quick kiss, and I followed behind them to their four-car garage. We piled into a white SUV, and to my delight, Malik had the local sports station on the radio.
“There’s Evan’s house,” Nia commented as we drove down their street. It was another mansion on the waterfront surrounded by large trees. “Lots of the guys from the team live in this neighborhood.”
If things went the way I hoped they would, Evan wouldn’t be in that house for much longer.
On our way into the city, we stopped by an apartment complex to pick up Reggie. He said a brief “what’s up” to me when he got in the back seat.
He was a handsome guy, but I was on a mission. And it wasn’t to date a man who’d probably be kicked off the team in a year due to injury since the coaches would use him as a tackling dummy for the starters.
Apparently the disinterest was mutual, since he spent the entire car ride on his phone. He didn’t say anything to me for the rest of the evening.
Sadly enough, still not my worst date ever.
Tinsley was hosting the celebration/Jumping Jacks kickoff party at her penthouse in one of the swankiest buildings in downtown Portland. The doorman let us up after making sure that our names were on a list. Turns out the paparazzi yelling Malik’s name and taking his picture didn’t work as a valid form of identification, and Malik showed the doorman his driver’s license. Now satisfied, the doorman pointed out which elevator we should use. The elevator went right inside the penthouse. No hallways or anything.
Even though I feared for my ability to sit down in this dress, I quickly saw that Nia was right. Every woman at the party was dressed in a similar fashion, and I would have been out of place in my other “Amish girl during Rumspringa” outfit.
Two of the defensive linemen called Malik and Reggie over, leaving me with Nia. She took a compact out of her purse and checked her lipstick. “Let me make the rounds, and I’ll come back later to introduce you to Tinsley, okay? Find a quiet corner, and don’t talk to anyone yet.”
“Okay.” Because that wouldn’t be awkward. Showing up at a party and avoiding every person there. Totally normal behavior, right?
I went over and grabbed myself a drink just to give my hands something to do. Even though I knew it was only my imagination, it felt like everyone in the room was staring at me. I recognized all of the players and even some of their significant others. I wanted to talk to the team about plays and strategies for their upcoming game that Sunday but didn’t want to incur Nia’s wrath.
“Did ya know I’ve got a weakness for redheads?” I turned to see the Scottish kicker, Finn MacNeil, standing just behind me. I could see why Rory had a thing for him—light-brown hair and dark-green eyes, a devilish smile, fantastic athletic build, and a burr on hisRs that could fluster a girl.
Not that I was flustered. Much. I focused on the drink in his hand, remembering his near-DUI conviction that had been dismissed by a judge. Brenda had run a story about it, questioning favoritism for professional athletes, but it hadn’t gotten her the ratings buzz she’d hoped for. Finn was definitely trouble, and not why I was here.
“Yeah, I hear you’ve got a weakness for whiskey, too. I wouldn’t recommend either,” I said, quickly excusing myself since I wasn’t following Nia’s instructions.
My phone buzzed. Hoping it was Nia telling me to find her, I was disappointed to see that it was just a text from Aubrey.
I sighed. She was not going to make this easy.
Wanting a distraction, I took myself on an uninvited tour of the penthouse. I smiled at groups of people as I walked by them but didn’t slow down to start any conversations. I found a room with a door slightly ajar and decided that meant I could go in.
Given the brown leather couches, the framed jerseys, and the massive TV that could have moonlighted as a movie theater screen, I guessed this was Jamie’s man cave. The Cleveland game was paused on the TV. I hadn’t had the chance to see the beginning of it yet and figured this would be the perfect way to do what Nia wanted. The remote sat on the coffee table, and I rewound the game to the initial kickoff, settling onto the couch.
I started narrating the game out loud. “The Cleveland Browns won the coin toss and have elected to receive. Number 42, alcoholic and womanizer Finn MacNeil, lines up his kick. And it’s a beautiful one, straight and strong to the Browns’ ten-yard line. Where it’s picked up by”—I didn’t know the names of the Browns players off the top of my head—“the return specialist, Number 14.”
It was a bad habit I had whenever I watched any type of sporting event. I couldn’t help but do the play-by-play. At our family get-togethers, they made me do it in my head. If I ever forgot, I was pelted with couch cushions. But I was alone now, so it didn’t matter.
The Jacks defense held the Browns at the line of scrimmage and quickly got the ball back. The Jacks offense came out onto the field. Evan Dawson threw the ball to the team’s best wide receiver, Ian Sommers. Sommers had magic hands and a vertical leap that would make a frog jealous. He hardly ever missed a throw. But Dawson had hurled it wide, and no one on the planet could have caught it.
“Bad throw. You’re killing me, Dawson!”
“If it makes you feel any better, we win.”
Someone had entered the room behind me, and the sound of his voice scared me, causing my heart to slam hard against my chest. I put my hand up, as if I could calm it down.
